


opera and snore

by orphan_account



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Benefits include: tv and snacks, Established Relationship, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Open Relationships, gratuitous time spent on useless side OCs but i love them all so you have to love them too, morse turned 40 and his hair colour said goodbye, netflix and chill before it was a thing, sex is discussed but they really just slouch on the couch, shirley probably thinks it's kinda hot too, the irl quarantine mood without an in-story quarantine, this is as close as i get to fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "The Golden Cockerel" | BBC TWO, SAT 12 JANUARY 1980, 18:35 (Part 2 at 7.45 pm) | RADIO TIMES 10 JAN(Morse solves his opera access problems by calling his never-fake-divorced fake-wife, Shirley is happy to have her never-fake-divorced fake-husband over for a weekend.)
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Shirley Trewlove, Endeavour Morse/Shirley Trewlove
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/gifts).



> 15th nov 2020: i'm deleting my account but leaving this and a few others up as orphaned versions.
> 
> Two parts, too many OCs, some over-explaining of Rimsky-Korsakov.
> 
>  **me, holding up morse and shirley's weird non-relationship:** i just think they're neat _~~also i spent literal ages digging through BBC genome for a possible year I'm so f-~~_

How exhausting it was to pull oneself out of bed - particularly when the floor was cold and the blankets were warm, and the January morning was still dark outside. Shirley squinted at her reflection in the dark window. The after-waves of holiday horrors were crashing over every station in North London, and she wondered if she should've become a baker instead. Not for the first time, either; fresh bread and pastries would've been a lovely addition to her sad mid-week breakfast. Mum must've had some of those old pudding recipes to share, now that all the Christmas leftovers were gone…

She shoved her toes into her slippers and wandered off.

A quick hot shower only left her shivering more, and by the time she had the kettle on, Shirley was feeling nearly ridiculous for the vests and jumpers she'd layered on. 

She turned on radio three and listened to the weather and the news. All was horrible in the kingdom, what else. New year and another decade helped no one. It was to be a Verdi string quartet next, and for that Shirley turned the whole thing off. It was all quite dramatic and heavy enough already for one morning.

She'd just set a big steaming mug of tea for herself at quarter past seven, when the phone rang. Shirley shoved her tea and the morning papers back on the table, and strode to get it. An early call was usually a serious one. She hadn't even thought of doing her hair yet.

'Trewlove.'

What could only be the Verdi string quartet tried to make its way through. A man cleared his throat.  _ 'Morse here. Is this a bad time?' _

'Oh. No, not at all, good morning.' Shirley frowned. 'What is it?'

_ 'Morning, err... it's, I was wondering if you've got a television?' _

'What?'

_ 'A television.' _

Shirley looked over her shoulder to the sitting room. 'You've been here, Morse. Several times.'

_ 'I know, I just couldn't remember for sure-' _

'Yes, I've got a telly. What for?' 

_ 'Err… well.' _ Morse was quiet for a moment. 

'Is this finally the year Mr Morse gets hooked on a tv soap?'

_ 'No, but thanks for your concern.' _ He laughed but sobered quickly, surprisingly serious.  _ 'Are you doing anything this Saturday night?' _

Shirley picked up the telephone and turned to get her calendar, but already knew the answer. 'Um, yes, I am. I'm working, we've got a case open.'

_ 'How late do you think you'll be at work?' _

'What is this about?'

_ 'Well, I haven't got one, a telly I mean, I've made do just well with only a radio,' _ he began in a defensive tone,  _ 'Max is out of town and I'm not sure if he's got one anyway, I don't feel like bothering Strange and his-' _

'What is this about, Morse?' 

He took a deep breath.  _ 'They filmed a Rimsky-Korsakov Opera from Glasgow a few years ago, and it'll be broadcast now. I hear it's visually a nice production, and we don't get a lot of Rimsky-Korsakov here anyway. Not to mention televised programmes. It was on radio back then, I liked it all right. And I haven't got a telly, but I don't fancy going to Glasgow any time soon either.' _

Shirley set the calendar down and pursed her lips. No laughing now. It was clearly a big deal to him. 'You want to come over to hog my couch for opera?'

_ 'Yes - don't call it hogging, Shirley! I'm asking very politely.' _

'Of course you are.'

Shirley told him to wait and went back to get her tea and the morning papers. The armchair in the corner was just as good as the breakfast table, and at least he was the one paying for the call if it stretched out.

'When does the programme start?' She asked and took a sip.

_ 'Six-thirty or so.' _

'Are you staying the night?'

_ 'I can drive home, it ends by nine. Don't worry about that.' _

'How exciting is it?'

_ 'I don't know if you-' _

'Morse, I'm asking if I'll get you in my bed after the opera or not.' Maybe it was the morning, but he was being unusually thick for change. 'I could do with some of that. Sex.'

_ 'Ah.'  _ He worked on the information for half a thought.  _ 'Well, no, I wouldn't decline the offer if you decided to extend the invitation. Of course I'd stay.' _

'Good. I decided it already.'

_ 'Sure.'  _ She heard his smile.  _ 'Roger that, ma'am. Isn't that what they say.' _

'All right, you, knock it off before I change my mind.' She joined his laughter anyway, and opened the  _ Radio Times _ for Saturday's television. 'I'd think I'm free by six - assuming nothing happens in two days, which…'

_ 'Isn't all guaranteed at the CID, I know. Sounds good anyway. Should I meet you at your work?' _

'Sure.' Would save her the trouble of the tube or station's cars, at least.

_ 'How have you been, otherwise?' _ Morse asked.

'Working, mostly,' Shirley replied, still too tired to come up with anything funny. 'Now I'm getting ready to brave the weather.'

_ 'Aren't we all,' _ he grumbled in solidarity.

It was a nice little chat anyway. It had been a while since they had last met and shared any recent news. Despite the chill and clouds, the morning was slowly getting a bit lighter outside.

///

Saturday dragged on like a snail. The jammed, tangled, no-good case progressed even slower. By six Shirley felt like all she had was more unfinished paperwork than when she'd started.

'Shirley?'

'Oh- Jesus!' She turned around on her chair.

'No, it's just me.' Morse peered over her desk, wrapped up in a dark winter coat and scarf. 'I knocked on the doorframe, too.'

'What are you doing here?'

'I'm picking you up.' 

'I know, but here! The CID office?' she spread her hands over her desk. Pat gave them a suspicious look from behind his.

Morse shrugged. His big blue eyes were amused as ever. 'No one asked. I guess I looked convincing, an inspector asking for Sergeant Trewlove.' 

'Yeah I guess you do.' She started to pack her things, but rolled her eyes. 'You've gone grey.'

'Oh, really?' His voice and look were flat. 'I hadn't noticed.'

'Not too bad. Suits you.'

He scoffed, but gently. 'How is this always the topic of our conversations?'

'You should show your face more often and I wouldn't notice. Or maybe you should start dying it red again.'

'Hair dye. Like you do?'

'I'm actually taking colour out, my dear, a whole another thing.' She got up and gave him another look. 'Inspector, you said?'

He looked rather proud of it, in his own bashful way. 'As of this week. If no one objects. God knows it hasn't all been smooth sailing.'

'Congratulations.'

'Thanks.'

Pat gave them another curious looks from his desk. Shirley leaned up to kiss Morse in greeting, just to give the poor bloke something to yak about with Sadler once he got back. Morse returned it with office-appropriate enthusiasm but smiled anyway. He lifted his eyebrows curiously. A  _ 'what was that for?' _ most likely.

'I got tomorrow morning off.' She smoothed out his coat lapels.

'Good.'

'The boys will have to survive without me, but at least I don't have to kick you out at the crack of dawn.'

'I'm very glad to hear that.' He smiled and glanced over to where Pat did a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop, and smiled. 'Some detectives, your  _ boys.' _

'Trying their best. He doesn't know who you are.'

'Should I show an identification?'

'No, shush. It'll do him good to wrack his brains on this for a minute.' She nudged him towards the door. 'I'll just get my coat on.'

'Hey, sarge,' Sadler said and stormed past Morse with his nose in his files. 'Could you-'

'I'm going home, sir, as we agreed,' Shirley said. She nodded towards Morse. 'I've got to go. Morse, this is DI Sadler. Just got his brand new shining title like you. Sadler, this is DI Morse. Thames Valley.'

Sadler stared at them, head tilted and big pale eyes blinking like a confused seagull. 'Yes. You did sort of mention something.' He was a few years younger than Morse, and looked it too, but didn't seem to take it as an encouraging factor on his swift promotion. Quite the opposite.

'Nice to meet you, Inspector Sadler,' Morse said and shook his hand.

'Likewise, yeah. Call me Terry.'

'Morse,' Morse agreed with a smile.

'And that's DC Morris.' Shirley pointed to his desk. Pat pushed his work aside and stood up. He nodded politely and took the offered hand.

'Sir.'

'Morse will do, I'm clocked out for the day.'

'Patrick Morris. Most call me Pat. Doubt it's a family relation, though.' 

Morse humoured him, considering his winter-white hand in Pat's dark one with a smile. 'Well, I don't know. Spellings change over time. I've got relatives all the way in Stamford and Alnwick, Northerners, would you believe.'

'Mine came from Derry to Merseyside,' Pat said drily. 'But I know I haven't got much of an accent to show for it, either.'

Morse laughed. 'Now, I thought there was something about you. I'm sure I would've guessed it right the first time. Not too red for an Irishman, are you.'

'No, sir.'

'I was, back when I was constable.' It made Pat crack a smile as well. 'Just call me Morse.'

Sadler looked even more confused, and truth be told, Shirley wasn't any less surprised at the quick camaraderie. It was good, though, to get some kind of a blessing for… well, for both the colleagues she thought of as friends, both of them a kind and straight sort. She was glad that they agreed on her judgement, too. 

'Sir, was there something?' she asked Sadler, picked up her bag and pulled on Morse's arm.

'No, no, go ahead.' The DI still didn't seem to know what to make of Morse, and maybe it was for the better.

Then Morse ruined it. He placed his hand on her back and smiled. 'Well, then, if you gentlemen excuse us, I would like to borrow your sergeant for the rest of the night. Enjoy your weekend.'

Shirley managed to suppress her grin all the way to the lobby. 'You really didn't have to say it like that.'

'Like what? Hardly an office romance if I have to take the M25 to get here.'

'Sure. But you'll make Pat overthink it. He won't ask me out for a pint anymore. And you could have just asked him if he's Jamaican - he isn't, I think his father was from Trinidad…'

'Oh, he's your  _ boyfriend _ ?' Morse asked, his tone scandalous as he opened the door for her. 'And I'm the fancy man? Listen, Shirley dear, it's a spot I'd rather  _ not _ end up in any time s-'

'Oh, shut up!' She laughed. 'He's not my boyfriend.'

Morse lowered his voice and gave her a narrow look. 'Have you slept with him? Your own constable.'

'That's not your business, is it.'

Morse took the scolding with a smile. 'No, it isn't.'

'And I could ask you the same. Who have you had over last?'

'I'd rather you didn't.'

'Thought so.'

He closed the door for her with an amused roll of his eyes that made a childish sort of delight flutter in her chest. It wasn't bad, but she hadn't expected butterflies in midwinter.


	2. Chapter 2

It was already dark out by the time they got to her place. Even though the North London neighbourhoods and old villages grew and changed each year, the neat block of flats had stuck its roots comfortably between Wood Green and Crouch End, and kept it a calm spot. Morse still looked a bit funny and out of place when he parked the Jaguar.

'You're still living here?' Morse asked curiously when they entered the corridor. The curiosity didn't keep her from half-rolling her eyes.

'It's a good distance from work, and doesn't cost me much. I get to travel and eat out and what have you.'

'Well, that's nice,' he offered, but not with genuine delight. 'No plans on getting a house?'

'Not really,' Shirley said. 'A dog, maybe, but I'm afraid I wouldn't have the time to house-train a puppy.' She stepped in closer to him and lowered her voice. 'And I couldn't leave Ann out of the blue like that, my neighbour. Had a rough few years, an aunt died, then her boyfriend left her, then a  _ girlfriend. _ She's getting back on her feet, but…' She shrugged. 

Morse met her eyes for a moment, and he looked at her like she was something soft and a little bit funny. 'Right?' He ducked his head and smiled a bit wider. 'You sure are something.'

'Well, she's a nice girl. Doesn't deserve all the battering she's been dealt recently.' Sometimes the world seemed a bit brighter just for her efforts to light it up around her. It was enough for her.

'No one does,' Morse agreed.

They got out of the lift on her floor, and were met with an open door and Ann's surprised look. The colourful woven door-hanging waved uncertainly.

'Hello, Shirl!' Ann said, defaulting to a kind of curious smile reserved for introductions. She balanced a laundry basket on one hip, and used her free hand to try and de-tangle her long straw-yellow hair.

'Ann!' Shirley smiled back, pulled Morse to the landing, and turned quickly to him.

'That's her?'

'She knows we were  _ married for a while,' _ Shirley whispered, and gave him a stern look, begging that Morse understood not to ruin everything. 'And that I left Thames Valley after.'

He spared a careful look towards Ann. 'Oh? The… divorce?' 

'Yeah. That.'

'All right. I hope you haven't been spreading anything too bad about me.'

'No, no. And you've- we've stayed in touch.'

'That we have.' He smiled.

She mouthed him a silent  _ thank you. _

'Work late?' Ann asked.

'Yes,' Shirley agreed, pointing at Morse, 'but luckily I got a ride home. You remember what I've told you about… my husband? Former husband. This is Morse.'

He nodded politely. 'How do you do.'

Ann's face turned from politely curious to outright buzzing with delighted questions. Oh no.

'Hi, Ann Appleby.' She offered her hand a bit awkwardly, but shook Morse's firmly.

'Call me Morse.'

'I'd half begun to think she's made you up. She taking you back?'

'Made me up?' He gave Shirley an amused look. 'No, I'm just here for a weekend visit. I hope I'm not too frequently the topic of your talks.'

'Only when I need to explain why I couldn't stand Oxford,' Shirley promised warmly and made him chuckle.

'What was it you do there? In Ofxord. Shirley's said but I can't remember…'

'Ann-'

'I'm a detective, same as her.' Morse looked back to check if it was right, and Shirley gave him a nod to go ahead. 'Though, I could've been a teacher. Shirley might've liked me better if I were.'

'That's nice,' Ann said. 'I'm doing, um… well, I wanted to do fashion, but it's such a hassle and full of problems, the whole deal, so right now I'm, err, sorry- I-'

'No, no, it's all right.' Morse looked at her colourful jewellery and the wild mixture of decor visible in the hall of her flat. 'You… must enjoy art?'

'Yes, I do!' Ann's poor face was starting to get an embarrassingly red tint the longer the chat dragged on. 'I really do.' Shirley wanted to shake her out of it, but ended up just clearing her throat.

'So does Morse, that's nice. Ann, we'll go now-'

'What are your plans for the evening?' Ann blurted out with a grin like she were a gossip journalist.

Morse dropped his eyes to his shoes to hide a laugh just as Shirley hid her whole face behind her hands.  _ Ann, stop. _

'An opera night, actually,' Morse said, and somehow managed to smooth his smile from hysteric to polite. 'There's a show on channel two, soon. I'd recommend you watch it too, once you get home from…' He gestured at the empty laundry basket.

Ann struggled to get anything out of her smirking mouth for a good while, and even ran a flustered hand through her long hair. 'Yeah. I… err, might give it a chance.'

'Great. It starts soon, so, we've got to go now, Ann,' Shirley said and hooked a right arm around Morse's elbow - more for Ann's sake than his, honestly. 'Was nice running into you, let's talk again soon!'

She pushed him into her flat and yanked the door shut.

'She's sweet, isn't she.'

'I swear to God, Morse, if you try to do anything with that girl, I will…'

'Divorce me?' He snorted a laugh into his sleeve, blocking her swat just in time.

'Yes, I will! That's exactly what I'll do! You leave that girl alone.'

He lifted his hands, smirking anyway. 'I wouldn't even think of laying a hand on her.'

'I sure hope not.'

'I just said I think she's sweet.'

'She is,' Shirley agreed, ushering him further in. 'And you're anything but, mister. You made her abandon her free spirit for  _ opera _ in under a minute.'

He was laughing again.

///

They sat down, and Shirley set a box of grapes and a bowl of crisps and chocolate between them. If it was to be a night in front of the telly, it could be a proper one, opera or not. Besides, he'd brought the wine again, so she didn't want to seem stingy. 

'Hey.' Shirley offered the snacks and sweets to Morse a bit more pointedly. He just nodded - and then actually looked at her and shook his head instead,  _ no thanks _ \- rather sat there leaning over his knees, hands crossed, eyes trained keenly on something invisible. 

Morse even checked his watch, the poor man, when a short programme on the care of house plants started to wind down. 

Just five more minutes, surely it wasn't that long. He was a grown man. His hands were still, but only because he was squeezing them together, and distant as they were his blue eyes were bright and blown. 

She took pity in him. 'What's the story about, now?  _ The Golden Cockerel?' _

Well, that put and end to the silence. No more faraway eyes nor the pale, shut-off look he'd drawn upon himself. He was excited - excited like she remembered him in the middle of a case, words rushing out of his mouth to catch her up to speed. The last years of the Russian empire, of Tzar Nicholas II, of a composer's career.

Shirley smiled. He was all right.

'...And the whole opera was heavily censored even before its premiere. Rimsky-Korsakov didn't want to budge, and right after he died and the show was put up in Russia, it got censored again, even though it's a fairytale.'

'Then I would think it popular nowadays.' Shirley shoved a few crisps in her mouth. 'If it criticised the old royalty so much.'

He twisted his face and his hands. 'Well, yes. No, but- it isn't-'

'Good grief, Morse, I'm not calling you a communist! Just trying to learn something from the best literature teacher I know.' 

'I'm the best?' 

She shoved his knee. 'Best and  _ only, _ and not even a real one, mind you!'

'You're the one who called me that.'

'I did. Poor me, I just so want a  _ husband- _ oh, wait, I did-'

'Yes, all right.' Morse gave her the kind of side-eyed look of annoyance she just loved. 'No need to mock me. You happen to be a very attractive woman, Miss Trewlove.'

'Why, thank you. You're a very charming man as well, Mister Morse, even if you are a communist and a teacher-fraud.'

He leaned back with a mock-frustrated sigh and a smile, and finally took the offer on the snack bowl she shook at him. 'A horrible man you've chosen.'

'Could be worse.' She kissed his cheek.

///

It wasn't a fault of the show itself. It was quite beautiful, really, and the way opera singers used their voices was spectacular. There was also a break for them to chat a bit. It wasn't boring at all. Shirley enjoyed herself.

It was just that wrapped under the blanket and Morse's arm was a very soft and warm spot to slouch in. Classical music was sort of soft and warm, too, and so was Morse's steady hand rubbing slow shapes on her shoulder and arm.

It was impossible to try and fight the sloom. She snuggled closer to Morse's side and closed her eyes.

'Are you going to fall asleep?' His voice carried through his chest with the waves of his breathing, and did nothing to help the drowsiness. Best to be honest.

'Maybe.' 

'It's only half past eight.'

'You wouldn't believe the week I've had.'

'No?'

'No.' Shirley shook her head against Morse's chest, and his laughter ran through the warmth.

'Okay.' He hugged her closer. 'But I'm not carrying you anywhere.'

'I don't want you to carry me anywhere… I'm just resting my eyes. Poke me when it's over.'

'I will.'

'Still want to have sex with you, after.'

'That will be mighty difficult for you if you're asleep,' Morse pointed out.

'We'll do it in the morning, then.'

He laughed again. 'All right.'

It seemed like no time passed at all when the poke between her ribs finally came, but the fact that it awoke her told Shirley enough. She took in a deep breath.

'Over now,' Morse called gently.

'Oh, I really fell asleep.' She opened her eyes up towards the ceiling. She had slumped down from Morse's shoulder onto his lap, and his hand no longer rested on her arm but her chest

'You did,' he said, and looked like he found it funny.

'Maybe it was the wine.'

'You only had one glass.'

'Well, maybe it was  _ you, _ then.'

'Me?' He smiled down at her.

'You're nice to sleep on.'

'I'm going to take that as a compliment.'

She grinned and stretched her arms. 'Yeah, you'd better. I'm picky in that department.'

'Next up is… a gangster film of some sort,' he said.

Shirley bit back a yawn and shook her head. 'Yeah, no, I think we've both seen enough gangsters to last a lifetime.' 

'Definitely.'

Morse let her crawl upright and went to put away the bowls and glasses. Shirley headed for the bedroom, and already hit the pillow before he'd closed the door or got his trousers off. She kept clinging onto consciousness for the sake of being polite. It was expected to be present for guests, probably. 

He pulled the covers over them and she threw an arm over him. 'Everything all right?'

She nodded. 'Good night, dear.'

He said something, but she didn't listen. He wasn't really a guest, even if it had been a while. Neither was he  _ home, _ but when he came around to be there he was a fitting part of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like I know I spent nearly half of each chapter on OCs but believe me they're a part of this timeline that you would like if you got to read more about them, I just never _write_


End file.
